Things That Can Be Broken
by StrangeAffinity
Summary: How Natsuko and Hiroaki met, how they fell in love, and how they fell out of love.
1. Promise

**Things That Can Be Broken**

By: StrangeAffinity

Part One - Promise

For Author's Notes please see my bio.

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_In order to move forward, reader, we must go back._

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_Breathe._

The boy closed his eyes and centered all of his concentration on forcing his burning lungs to fill once more. The thin stream of cool air he was able to suck in was a welcome balm, but it wasn't enough. His mouth and throat were becoming unbearably dry and sore, and his head felt painfully light. Fatigue was exploding behind his eyes and skewing his vision. He'd have to stop soon, or he'd pass out.

The boy's name was Hiroaki. He was a scrawny, unassuming creature that looked to be about eight, even though he was actually ten, almost eleven. He was small, with unruly brown hair and pasty skin that never took on color. His coffee brown eyes were unnaturally large in comparison with his other facial features, and they were wide and watery, giving him an uncanny resemblance to a small, quivery animal.

He hardly seemed of any interest to most, but, as I'm sure you have been taught, appearances are not what they seem, and there is a reason why this story is about Hiroaki, just as there is a reason why it starts here, in this forest under the cool, damp, shade of the trees. In fact, there is a reason for almost everything in this world, but reasons, like secrets, are tricky things, and most of them will never be known.

"Hiroaki!" A pleading cry from his pursuer rang out behind him, followed by the one word he did not want to hear, "Wait!"

This only spurred him onward. The last thing he planned do was wait. He gritted his teeth and forced his feet to carry him forward as fast and far as they could possibly go, despite the scorching tightness gathering in his chest. The lack of oxygen to his head made his legs seem disconnected from his body, as if they were moving mechanically, and it was less painful that way.

Up the next hill he staggered, until that hill ended, sudden and steep, into a drop he could never hope to live through. There was nowhere left to run. He could not escape, and his ineffectual body would not cooperate. He choked and struggled to breathe, gasping like a fish out of water. Furious with himself, he sank to his knees, taking frantic, shallow gulps of air. Relief would not come fast enough, and he could not get away.

"Hiroaki!?" The voice was closer now, and panting slightly from the effort of keeping chase, "Are you alright?"

"Go away Takehiro!" He hissed between wheezes, "I . . . hate you."

His sight was blurring. Shapes and colors were beginning to wash together, and his ears were ringing with the clanging sound of his rapid heartbeat. He fell forward on his hands and stared into the grass. He tried in vain to pick out the forms of individual blades and found that his new position was giving him a sickening sensation, like he was sinking forward into an endless expanse of green.

His sharp words caused Takehiro to visibly flinch as if he'd been stabbed, but he did not retreat. Trembling, he moved closer to his brother. Nervously, he pushed a thin wisp of blonde hair out of his eyes and spoke again.

"I'm sorry," He whispered the words so quietly that the slight breeze all but swallowed them up, "I'm really sorry."

Hiroaki did not speak, even though he could think of a million cutting words to say. He locked his jaw and fought against the terrible feeling of vertigo and anger welling up and constricting against his chest. He had a nauseous urge to either vomit or collapse, whichever came first.

"Hiroaki," Takehiro pleaded with fearful eyes, "Say something."

Hiroaki stared at his younger brother without bothering to veil the contempt in his expressive eyes. If it were physically possible, he would've seriously considered unleashing his temper and shoving him off the precipice they were standing on.

Takehiro was four years younger than him, and the last of four children born to Keisuke Ishida. His other two brothers were both considerably older than Takehiro and him. They were products of his father's first marriage to a young Japanese woman who had divorced him after three years of marriage. Mitsuo and Masahiko were both well into their twenties now and living in their own places. He hardly ever got an opportunity to see them. Takehiro, on the other hand, was always around and always annoying.

The baby of the family, he was spoiled rotten. He also got more of his looks from their American mother, making him exotic and interesting to other kids his age. Even at six, he was extraordinarily handsome, with fair, wheat blonde hair, deep hazel eyes that had a more western shape to them, and a perfectly proportioned face that looked nothing short of angelic, making it all the easier for their mother to pamper him. He was also tall, tan, and naturally skilled at anything athletic.

Hiroaki envied all of these things. He envied so deeply that it caused him physical pain. For it was a sad reality that Takehiro would always be stronger, better, handsomer, and loved more. Imagine, if you will, how it would feel to know that your own parents don't love you as much as they love your brother. And what if you knew exactly why? What if you could find no reason to blame them? Of course, you and I know that it will never be alright for a parent to bestow their affections on one of their children and not the other, regardless of strengths or talents. But Hiroaki had never been told this, and as far as he was concerned, his faults left him unworthy of attention or praise. He envied Takehiro, because he had what was required to be loved by another human.

And he was angry because Takehiro had committed an unspeakable crime.

"You, killed her," The words tasted awful on his raspy tongue, but saying them was strangely empowering, condemning even.

Up until today there had been one soul who had loved Hiroaki unconditionally. A small white mouse who not only adored him but relied on him for food, water and every other necessity. He had provided all of these things and more, pampering the tiny creature with all the love and affection he had to give, because she was the only one who gave it entirely in return. In that sense he had found a truly symbiotic love, and love, even if it is for something as insignificant as a mouse, makes life worth living.

Takehiro ruined that too. He was fascinated by the black button eyes, motorized, pink nose and soft white fur that she flaunted with pride. He'd always wanted a mouse of his own, but their parents said he was too young, leaving him to watch Hiroaki's delicate little pet with inquisitive eyes and a thin semblance of self control. He had never been faced with something that wasn't given to him on a silver platter, and he couldn't understand why Hiroaki would want to keep her all to himself. Love has only the wispiest of meanings in the mind of a six-year-old, and most of their understanding revolves around getting and taking. Wanting and having.

No good had come of it, and today the temptation had proven to be too much for the younger brother. He decided that his brother's rules meant nothing in the face of his desire, and had taken her out of her cage when Hiroaki was still at school. He hadn't meant to cause harm, but his small hands and uncoordinated movements had squished the life out of her, and no amount of repentance could reverse something as final as death. Hiroaki, on hearing of the tragedy, had fled. Takehiro had pursued, leaving them where they were now.

"I'm sorry," Takehiro's repeated as his eyes began to flood with unshed tears, "I just wanted . . . She was so soft. I just wanted to hold her."

"And you're never careful!" Hiroaki's own eyes burned with an angry sadness, threatening to make him cry too, but he was too weak to cry, and for once, he was thankful, "I told you not to touch her!"

Just saying those words made his hatred intensify, and it was because of this hatred that several fervent wishes were born. He wished, with each shallow breath he took, for Takehiro to suffer for what he'd done. He wished to be strong enough to outrun him. But most of all, he wished that someday he would have something that Takehiro would be envious of. Something he'd want desperately but could never have no matter how hard he tried.

An unbreakable cage around his love.

That, he decided, would make him happy.

But wishes as well as being wonderful, can be absolutely absurd, because there is no way of knowing what you've truly wished for until your wish has been granted. And therein lies the problem. For at this point Hiroaki could never have known that these three wishes, made in anger, would indeed be granted. He also couldn't have known then how desperately he'd wish he'd never wished them. But wishes are just what they are. Wishes. And they often don't obey anybody.

"Hiroaki, If you'll forgive me, I promise you this," Like Hiroaki's wishes, Takehiro's next words would haunt him for the rest of his life, "I'll never touch anything important to you again, as long as I live."

And indeed he did not, but promises, just like wishes and envy, can cost a man his life.


	2. Summer's Child

Review Responses

ninfan - Thanks for the review, and thanks for the compliments. I hope this next part is as good as the first.

Salamon2 - Awesome review. It's nice to get that much commentary. And as a matter of fact I was just talking to my friend before I posted this fic about how totally predictable it is, so I'm sorry about that. As for whether your prediction is correct, time will tell. Yeah, I know the idea isn't original, but I like writing them anyway. Maybe it's because there really isn't much story behind them.

Another's note: Yes, there are a few things in here that seems to conflict with the existing universe that clever readers will be able to spot, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

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**Part 2 - Summer's Child**

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_Reader, as you must know, most stories about a boy, are often about a girl as well. This is about that girl, who suffered, not from neglect, but under the destructive dealings of men with wealth and power._

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Her name was Natsuko, and though her parents had many children, she was the only one who survived past the age of two. Even though her health was never splendid, the simple fact that she lived was a miracle, and she was the most precious thing her mother and father had.

Her father was a wealthy business man, part French, part Japanese, but raised in Tokyo all his life. It was on a rare visit to France that he happened to meet the beautiful dancer that would soon be her mother. He married her soon after he met her, and together, they decided to settle down in the country where they had met. Thus, Natsuko was born into the heart of the glittering, glamorous French elite.

She was the living embodiment of a porcelain doll, with alabaster skin, dainty features and a cascade of golden curls that fell to the middle of her back. Her eyes were almond shaped and blue, framed by long, dark lashes, making her quite an attractive youth. Like Hiroaki, she was a small, fragile thing, but unlike him, she'd always be small, her whole life.

Like all proper, well bred, girls her age, Natsuko possessed impeccable poise, manners and refinement. She went to a prestigious school and lived in a prestigious part of town amidst other prestigious people. By the time she was seven years old, she could speak three different languages, play the piano and the violin, pick out the main themes in several forms of literature and exhibit mastery in practical etiquette and polite conversation.

However, it was on this day, four years after Takehiro's fatal promise, that all of that changed.

It was four o'clock and Gerard, the chauffeur, had just brought her home from school in one of the family cars. She stepped through the massive front doors of the Takaishi manor and quietly put away her coat and shoes. Then she greeted Merlot, the youngest of the family German Shepherds, and her own personal playmate around the house. This was a fact that her parents were willing to ignore, as long as nobody got word that their daughter was uncivilized enough to play in the mud with a dog.

It was while she was busy scratching behind the dog's ears that the voices drifted over to her from the parlor. She recognized her mother and father's voices, but there was a third voice she'd never heard before. It was deep and grating, a funny pitch that caused the hairs on her arms and neck to stand on end. Apologetically, she stopped petting Merlot, and followed the voices. The eager dog followed her amiably, tail wagging enthusiastically.

She stopped outside the open parlor doors and flattened her body against a wall, to make sure nobody saw her yet. The position prevented her from seeing any of the proceedings happening within the room, but she could hear every word spoken by the three occupants crystal clear. Merlot seemed to understand her need for secrecy, and sat down noiselessly beside her, ears pointed toward the open doors like swiveling antenna.

The first thing that struck Natsuko as odd was that they were conversing in Japanese. She knew Japanese because her father was part Japanese but had never found any practical use for the language, because nobody spoke Japanese in France. However, it seemed that the unknown man with the grating voice was probably a native speaker, for his handle on the language was as perfect as her father's. Her mother, Arielle, who had never quite understood the language, wasn't saying much.

"I consider myself a reasonable and fair man Mr. Takaishi," The unknown man purred in a sugary-sweet voice that suggested he was quite the opposite, "I'm sure that this little matter can all be settled with some sort of _agreement_."

That voice made her feel as if an ice cube had been dropped down her back and those words only intensified this feeling of uneasy dread that was creeping up her spin. The dog beside her seemed to sense it too. Her coarse fur was beginning to stand on end, and she no longer looked relaxed. In fact, Merlot looked like she was ready to lunge into the room and attack the man. Natsuko had to lay a small hand on her back to keep her sitting.

"What do you want?" Her father's voice was tired and worn. He sounded like he was about to concede a war, miserable, and powerless to fight any longer.

"I understand that you have a daughter," At this, Natsuko stood up straighter and leaned in closer to the doorway. She would have forgot entirely about not being seen if Merlot hadn't made a small warning noise. She froze and listened with bated breath.

He continued, and her veins began to turn to ice with each word he spoke, "Natsuko, I believe. I also understand that she's quite pretty. I don't know if you are aware, but my son, Yurkio, is in the market for a bride. Perhaps a marriage between our two households can settle any financial disputes between us."

Natsuko didn't know what was more horrifying. The fact that this man she'd never met seemed to know about her, or the fact that he could possibly have any children of his own. And what he was suggesting . . . she didn't even want to entertain the thought. Her skin was becoming cold and prickly and her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute. Her parents would never allow that. Would they?

She could feel Merlot's hot breath in her ear, wet and tickling. Normally it would have bothered her, but now it was the only comfort she had. Shaking slightly, she sank to her knees, put her arms around the dog, and buried her face in the soft fur of her neck. Merlot made a small whimpering noise, as if to ask what the matter was, but she did not object to the affection. If she pressed her ear closer, she could drown in the dog's steady heartbeat.

"Don't bring Natsuko into this," Her father's voice suddenly became very edgy and awake, "She is my only child. I won't sell her to you."

"And I wouldn't dream of asking for such a thing," The stranger's voice took on the tone of one attempting to explain something to a child, except it wasn't comforting at all, "But she may become a fatherless child if you don't come to your senses, Katou. Think what could happen then, and tell me this isn't for the best."

Natsuko clutched the dog tighter. She was young, but she was old enough to recognize a threat when she heard one. What would her father do now? What could she expect him to do? Surely there had to be laws against this kind of thing.

Merlot was growling low in her throat with all of her sharp teeth exposed. She didn't like the man's voice. Silently, the seven-year-old girl bared her own teeth in a similar gesture. She knew she was doing something that would have completelyappalled her parents, but the release was simply sublime. She was the picture of prim and proper, but sometimes, like now, she could feel something raw and primitive fighting its way into the forefront of her mind. Something that flared up without warning, making her resent every petticoat and hair ribbon that caged in her freedom.

"But she's only seven years old," Her mother pleaded in broken, heavily accented, Japanese, "Surely this can wait a few more years at least!"

"I'm an impatient man, Mrs. Takaishi," The man snarled, "When I invest in something I like to make sure it'll turn out properly, and the only way to make sure that your daughter will turn out properly is to have her live with us, in a more civilized manner than you . . . _Parisfolk_. Do we have a deal?"

"No," Her mother broke off into a frantic bout of French that was obviously aimed at her father, "Tell him Katou! Tell him we won't do it!"

"Arielle, why don't you go see if our daughter is home from school yet," Her father murmured quietly, as if embarrassed by his wife's outburst, "And bring her back in here."

Natsuko's eyes widened in alarm. Quickly, she got to her feet and straightened out her dress with trembling hands. Wisps of dog hair flew everywhere, floating easily through the air and attaching themselves to the first things they came in contact with. She'd developed coating of it from Merlot. Hurriedly, she tried to brush herself off, but she knew that she could never completely rid herself of the fur in time. That wasn't what concerned her most at that moment. Would she really have to go into that room and see the man with the frightening voice?

"Katou!?" Her mother's voice quivered on a protest, "Tell me you wont do this!"

"Do as I say!" The sudden venom in her father'swords was sharp and painful for both mother and daughter. The anguish in his voice was evident, but that didn't stop Natsuko from wincing. Her father never spoke to her mother that way.

She could hear her mother pushing her chair back and getting up. Soon the sound of her dutiful footsteps echoed through the open door, becoming steadily closer. Each click of those heels caused a reverberation that drove icicles through her body, making her lungs constrict and her breath waver with barely repressed sobs of anger and defiance. She wanted to run. If she ran fast and hard enough, they'd never catch her. They could never make her go into that room. They'd never force her to do anything.

Her feet refused to move, like in some terrifying nightmare with a monster closing in.

Her mother swept through the doors and caught sight of her instantly. She gasped in shock, and then she smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring, but the grin didn't reach her haunted eyes. Her mother did not look at all like her usual stunning self today. Her springy blonde curls were beginning to loosen at there were new lines on her forehead and around her eyes. She also looked like she'd been crying. Natsuko refused to let herself do the same. They'd never see her cry. Not now. Not after what they'd done.

They both stared at each other for a moment as if they could hear the silent breaking of each other's hearts. Then, silently, her mother beckoned her forward and led her back into the room. Into the light that she was beginning to dread with every fiber of her being. Merlot was not allowed to come along.

Natsuko could scarcely breathe properly as her mother led her into the parlor. She kept her fists clenched tightly around the folds of her mother's dress and clung on for dear life, hiding herself from view as much as possible.

"Suko, my dear," Her father cooed in a voice laced with fake geniality, "Come out from behind your mother and say hello to Mr. Oikawa."

She never thought she would be so disgusted by her own father, but from that moment on, she began to hate him with a passion she didn't even know she was capable of. How could he treat this like some sort of customary pleasantry? How could he sit there and lie to her face? If he knew that she'd heard everything, what would he say?

Obediently she stepped out from behind her mother, and greeted the man in curt, emotionless French, "Bonjour Monsieur Oikawa."

Her father glared at her, but she pretended not to notice.

The man her eyes rested on was older than both of her parents, with a gaunt, line-covered face. He had stringy black hair that reached his shoulders and dark, sunken eyes. He smiled menacingly around the cigarette between his teeth and she found herself drawing back in revulsion. His teeth were stained and yellow, blackened with tar in some places and completely crooked. She'd always found smoking to be revolting, but this just topped the cake.

"My, my, she _is_ lovely," The man murmured with eyes that glittered as if he were sizing up the value of a new piece of furniture, "Lovely enough to become a beautiful woman. Just like her mother."

Her eyes narrowed into cerulean slits. If only she were a wolf. If only it were permissible to leap at this man, teeth bared, and bite him. Merlot would bite him, and biting would save her a thousand words. Animals settled things much better than humans. There was none of this scheming and blackmailing and threatening that she so hated. And most of all, animals did not try and own each other. She was nobody's piece of furniture.

Her father stiffened in his chair, "Watch yourself Oikawa," he growled, "Forcing your son to marry my daughter will not make up for what you never had."

"Certainly not, Katou," The frightening false smile on his pallid face quickly turned into a sneer, "It will be _more_ than poetic justice. She is French enough to be exotic, and Japanese enough to be a suitable wife, something you never considered when you choose yours. Oh, and I forgot the best part. She is the daughter of my hated rival, and you have no choice."

_You have no choice._

The words echoed and shattered in Natsuko's head until they became a thousand tiny voices each whispering the same terrible phrase. It is a terrifying thing to be faced with a situation in which you have no choice, and the whole Takaishi family would indeed break under this terror. A mother and father had no choice but to live with the fact that they sold their only daughter to protect her. Their daughter, I'm sorry to say, never had a choice in her whole life.

And she vowed that one way or another that would change. Nobody could own a wolf.


	3. Tinder and Sparks

Review Responses

Ducky06 - I'm not mad. Any review is a good review.

hpdigigal - To some extent it was meant to be confusing. I hope it isn't too confusing though.

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**Part Three - Tinder and Sparks**

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_And then, they met._

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Friction, in every sense of the word.

That, she decided, described her efforts to get her hair to lay flat.

She scrambled through the deserted twilight shrouded sidewalks, heels clicking steadily on the pavement. Evening was rapidly fading into night, and only a few people who were brave enough to weather the cold were still out and about. Another gust of freezing air ruined all her efforts and tossed her hair into her face, just as she spotted the store she was looking for. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear the elements had it in for her today. With a groan, she cut across the street to the opposite corner, and opened the door of the tiny pet store.

Eightyears after her removal from France, Natsuko Takaishi was now sixteen. Short, slender, and not outrageously eye-catching, she would have been a rather unassuming sight on the streets of Paris. In Japan however, she was a rarity, a fact that years of living in Highton View Terrace had taught her well. She spoke the language perfectly now, and even looked slightly Japanese from her father's side of the family. But there would always be the obvious differences that set her apart. Her once radiant head of lush blonde curls had lost some of its splendor over the years and was now an unobtrusive light brown. But her eyes remained blue, a chilling contradiction on her oriental face.

She walked into the small, dimly lit store and analyzed her reflection in the nearest window. It was appallingly bedraggled and windblown, at least in her opinion. Hurriedly, she ran her fingers over her hair, soothing it down and correcting her part. The winter static was threatening to give her tediously straightened curls new life, and the thought alone was horrifying. Deciding that she would have to make do with her hair, she examined the rest of her appearance, being critical of every flaw she came across.

She was in desperate need of some chapstick, and she made a note that her eyebrows would be needing some attention in the future. Her skirt clung tightly to her legs because of the cursed static in the air, and it made crackling noises when she tried to fix it. No matter how hard she tried she could not get the fabric to behave normally, and her attempts to tame it were only making the situation worse. It was regrettable, but luckily she was only in a pet store. It wasn't as if she was appearing at one of the Oikawas' decorative social events.

The noise of someone clearing their throat made her jump.

Hiroaki, for his part was exceedingly bored. He was also exceedingly annoyed, and the combination had given him a deadly temper. There were plenty of better things he could have been doing, but he was stuck here at "Pet Paradise" on a Saturday evening, and the shop was completely deserted. How typical. Takehiro was going to get it the next time he saw him. He slumped into his chair behind the counter and yawned.

His glasses were beginning to slide down his nose again, but he didn't bother with them. He kept telling himself that it was time to get contacts, but somehow, he never seemed to get around to it. Besides, less than perfect sight was nothing compared to what he'd suffered through in his youth. Over the years, he'd been able to correct his physical weaknesses with a strict and dedicated program of exercise. He didn't like to acknowledge it now, but he knew that the only reason he was able to persevere was because he always wanted to be better than his brother, more than anything else, and it drove him. Now, he was almost never out of breath, and he was certain that if he was ever given the chance to prove himself, he could definitely beat Takehiro in any race. But somehow, knowing this wasn't as satisfying as he once thought it would be.

Over the years he had come to a sort of grudging reconciliation with his brother. The old wounds of their youth had turned into the faintest of scars, and he had also become somewhat of a friend to Takehiro, though he wasn't sure how that happened. The only reason he was here in the first place was because his wonderfully responsible, nineteen-year-old brother had suddenly realized he had a huge end of term exam to study for. Looking back on it,Hiroaki decided that he should have been a jerk. He should've refused to fill in for him at the store where he worked, which Takehiro conveniently forgot to mention was a pet store. He didn't much care for pets, and he didn't know what he'd do if someone actually came in needing some advice, but having no customers was getting pretty boring too.

Little did Hiroaki know, but on that day, in a few minutes to be exact, he would fall in love, even though he wouldn't come to realize this until much later. And not just any sort of love. The kind that sneaks up on you, traps you in its tenacious clutches when you're not looking, and refuses to release you from its irresistible hold, til the day you die. Love is completely wonderful, and utterly stupid like that. And like most people who have never loved before, he also couldn't begin to comprehend how Love could bend him, break him, and totally shatter him without remorse.

He was just beginning to doze off when he noticed her. She sailed through the door in a whirl of visibly cold air. It chimed cheerfully to announce her entrance, not that it needed to be announced. She was his first customer in over an hour. And a pretty costumer at that. Very pretty. He sat up straighter in his chair and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. They only verified what he had thought.

She was young. Probably too young for him, but he allowed himself a long look anyway. It was quite possibly this second glance that sealed and locked his fate. Love did not fly headlong into his face, but a spark of attraction can easily start fire if it lands in the right place. Amusingly enough, she was too busy studying her reflection to pay him any notice.

She was short with straight brown hair that fell past her shoulders. Her thick winter coat concealed most of her upper body, but that tiny little skirt she was currently messing with didn't leave much to the imagination. A fact he tried valiantly to ignore almost as soon as he noticed it. She was a customer. Who also happened to be a minor. Who also happened to be wearing _that_ skirt with _those_ legs.

It should be noted here, reader, that while Natsuko was certainly a pretty girl, she wasn't nearly as flawless as she appeared in Hiroaki's eyes. But different people appeal to different tastes, and as far as Hiroaki was concerned Aphrodite herself couldn't compare.

He finally decided that his unknown ogling had gone on long enough and cleared his throat. She jumped and spun away from the window with wide eyes. Eyes that he was not prepared to see. They set sizzling goose bumps over his skin and stirred something within him. It was like looking into the ocean and the heavens at the same time. He decided that they had to be contacts. That notion was easier to swallow.

Natsuko, for her own part, studied this man intently, and found herself paralyzed with embarrassment. Why, of all the people who could have caught her doing something stupid, did it have to be someone good looking? He was the kind of man that any girl could easily have a hopeless crush on, strong build, bronze skin, and the most sincere eyes she'd ever seen. Her heart was suddenly doing a dizzying tapdance, and she was sure that the instant she tried to move, she'd trip over her own feet. She was reminded of all the times she'd found herself with a crush on a teacher. Except this, was much worse.

"It seems that the window washers are doing their jobs well," He flashed her the boyish grin that had won him Fi Ootori's heart in highschool. Of course, this was a whole different playing field, and she was probably still _in_ highschool, but that didn't mean he couldn't tease.

Her cheeks filled with color, and in her embarrassment at being caught in an act of vanity, she forgot to use her second language, "Oui, Monsieur."

Hiroaki blinked dumbly. Maybe his ears were going bad, but he was pretty sure he'd heard her mumble a load of complete gibberish. If she didn't speak Japanese, it was going to make business interactions very cumbersome, a fact that he wasn't entirely unhappy about. She'd be forced to stick around a little longer to get her point across. Takehiro was gonna be so jealous when he heard about this. He was definitely going to stick it to his brother for saddling him with this job.

"I'm sorry," He tilted his head and gave her a puzzled look, "Could you repeat that?"

"My apologies," She blushed again, and this time managed to speak in delicately accented Japanese, "You startled me."

Her voice, like everything else about her, was also completely nerve rattling. It was not high and girlish like any other woman he'd ever heard before. It was a thick alto that caressed every word she spoke. In fact, everything about her was fascinating. If she were only a few years older, oh what he wouldn't do to get to know her better. She didn't even have to be that much older. Maybe just a year or two. Come to think of it, how old _was_ she. She could just be an amazingly young looking college student.

"So . . . um," He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how very sinful his thoughts were becoming, "How may I help you this evening?"

"I wish to buy cat food, Monsieur . . ." Her haunting eyes flickered down to the name tag on his shirt, which happened to be his brother's, "Ishida."

"I think we have that," Hiroaki sighed in relief. He wasn't quite sure what Monsieur meant, but it couldn't be anything too complicated. Cat food was so easy, it couldn't possibly make him look like a fool, "Now, I just have to find it. Give me a second."

She gave him a perplexed look, but choose not to comment. He marched purposefully down the first isle and found himself confronted by rows and rows of fish tanks. No problem. She doesn't think you're lost yet, he assured himself. You were born with an innate sense of direction. You can handle this. Just quickly walk down the next aisle as if you were heading there all along.

The next aisle did not yield cat food, but rather a stunning array of care supplies for hamsters and gerbils. He glanced over at her, and found her studying him with an inscrutable look on her face.

"Are you . . . ," She seemed to be choosing her words carefully so as not to offend him, "Are you new here?"

"No," Hiroaki snorted with laughter as if she'd said something completely ridiculous, "Why would you ever think that?"

She arched an eyebrow and gave him a bemused look, as if she wasn't sure quite what to make of him, "Because it seems to me that we wouldn't find cat food in the fish aisle or the rodent aisle, and you seem to be heading toward the bird aisle."

Hiroaki stopped in his tracks, and found that he was indeed about to turn into an aisle filled with cages, bird seed and cuttlebones, "Well yes, this is true," He conceded, but he refused to admit to anything yet, "But of course, by deductive reasoning we will be able to find which aisles do _not_ have cat items, thus leading us to where the cat section would logically be."

"Oh," She began to smile in spite of herself and pointed up at a large red sign suspended above her head, "But wouldn't it be much easier to just follow the signs?"

"Yes," He admitted with a chuckle, "That it would."

From that point onward the girl led the way, and he was perfectly content to follow. He had no idea a pet store could be so confusing. The number different pets people could keep seemed to be endless. He'd lost interest in pets a long time ago, but Takehiro, ever since he was little, always had a strange affinity for animals. Anything beautiful and exotic always ignited his curiosity. Kind of like the girl.

That thought jumped at him out of nowhere, and he quickly attempted to dislodge it. But the more he thought about it, the more his realized it was true. She was exactly the kind of girl his brother would hound. Perfect body. Perfect face. Most definitely foreign. Perhaps he could set them up sometime. Only if it was just to prove to himself that he didn't harbor any sort of deranged fascination with her.

"Do you know which brand I should get Monsieur Ishida?" Her voice brought him sharply out of his revere.

He blinked and saw that somehow, while he was lost in thought, she had found the aisle she was looking for. There had to be a million different types of cat food on the shelves he was now faced with. And she was standing with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to pronounce his selection. It seemed that he had been horribly mistaken when he predicted this would be easy.

"Um . . ." He scanned the selections, looking for something . . . anything, to pop out at him, "That one looks good."

He had pointed to a small purple bag that depicted a cartoon cat licking its lips and holding a fish-shaped kibble in its paw. The bag read, "Kitty Crunchies" in bubble letters. The girl raised that damned eyebrow again, and looked at him with a dubious expression. That eyebrow was really beginning to irritate him. In an irritatingly sexy sort of way. Dammit all.

"Do I _look_ like someone who doesn't know what they're doing?" He demanded with as much seriousness as he could muster, "I mean, who's wearing the name tag, me or you? I think I know what I'm talking about when it comes to cat food," And with that, he thrust the bag into her hands.

Natsuko could only stare in wonder. She wasn't quite sure what to think about this man. She wasn't even sure if he was an actual employee. She was only sure that she needed some type of food, or her new cat was going to starve, and this man _did_ have a name tag. But he was something else. Something horribly alluring, but at the same time it felt superficial. Crushy.

"So what is your cat's name?" He asked casually as he rung up the bag of cat food. Luckily, he was familiar with how to work a cash register.

She shrugged, finding herself absently studying the muscles in his arms as he worked the register, "He doesn't have a name yet. I just got him as a present."

"Oh," Hiroaki set the bag and her receipt in front of her, "Well I wish you and your new cat the best of luck with this food. Good evening."

"Thank you. Maybe I'll come by again sometime for your navigating services," Her voice was a purr that nearly made his jaw drop. She was flirting with him.

His every intention was to tell her the truth. He'd probably never see her again, and it was better that way. But one look into those depthless eyes, and his mouth ran away with him, "Yeah. Maybe you should."

She gave him a hooded grin that was almost innocent, but he saw the dangerous flash in those beautiful eyes. She was laying down a challenge, striking matches and laying them at his feet. She had him and he had her, unescapably. The only question now was who would be burned first. But that didn't even matter, because the fire would kill them both in the end.

She slunk toward the door, hips swaying slightly, and this time, he didn't bother tearing his eyes away.


	4. The Jackal

A/N - And almost a month later I finally update. I think now that I've gotten a good start on this I can get back to writing Verda. I have up to chapter seven of this story completed, so it will continue to be updated. Kudos to all of you who noticed the subtle things I threw in here.

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**Part Four - The Jackal**

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_On the importance of not walking alone in dark alleys at night._

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She swayed on her feet as she exited the store and stared up into the bottomless sky. Twilight had settled over the city, and only the dregs of a blazing sunset could be seen on the fringes of the horizon. The stars were visible now, and the streets were wonderfully empty. The night was cold and bleak, but she felt surprisingly warm and comfortable. Everything was pleasantly peaceful in that moment, and she wished she could keep it forever.

If she could just remember him, she wouldn't have to remember anything else. She wouldn't have to remember that she was sixteen years old and engaged to marry a man ten years older than her who rarely paid her any attention. She wouldn't have to remember that she hadn't seen her parents since she was eight, and she had no idea if they were even alive. She wouldn't have to remember that she was the only girl in her school who wasn't allowed to date, because Mr. And Mrs. Oikawa wouldn't allow it. Not that any boy would be interested in her anyway, but the option would have been nice.

She couldn't explain why she was so drawn to that man. He was easy on the eyes that was for sure, but that couldn't have been all of it. Maybe it was the way he looked at her. Yurkio hardly ever looked at her, and when he did, he never looked at her the way that man had. That man looked at her as if what he was seeing was something utterly amazing, and it made her feel like the most beautiful woman alive. She knew that she was probably just another nameless customer to him, and he'd probably forget all about her by tomorrow, but that didn't mean she couldn't pretend like he wouldn't.

She was so absorbed in her own private bliss that she didn't notice the stranger in front of her until she nearly bumped into him. He was standing inconspicuously in the shadows where the lamplit main walk met a narrow alley. She was so startled by his sudden appearance that she jumped and took a step back. Only to collide rather surprisingly with something rigidly solid.

The thick arm of the second stranger snaked swiftly around her stomach before she could react, knocking all the wind from her. Another hand flew over her mouth, stifling her shriek of surprise. She struggled, but it was like wrestling with a concrete boa constrictor. The harder she fought, the tighter his grip became, until she was certain she'd no longer be able to breathe. The man she'd nearly ran into just smiled like a jackal, as if her plight was some form of hilarious entertainment. She couldn't see what he looked like in the hazy dark, but his leering teeth glittered like pearls in the moonlight.

Whoever was holding her, hoisted her off her feet as if she weighed little more than a sack of flour and dragged her into the complete darkness of the alley. Only the faint scuffling sounds of her struggle and her small, strangled whimper could be heard. She knew it wasn't enough to alert anyone who might be nearby. She had to make more noise somehow, but it was impossible to scream when she had to fight just to breathe.

All thoughts were temporarily banished from her head when her captor slammed her into a grimy alley wall. Stars exploded in the backs of her eyes like thousands of flashbulbs. A terrible black, swirling, twinge was ricocheting around in her head. With a cry of pain, her knees buckled beneath her, and she slumped into a motionless heap in his arms. When her vision became clear and focused again, she realized the alley was not as empty as she thought. There were at least five men surrounding her now, blocking off all her exits.

Trembling, she struggled more fervently against the man holding her still, but she was weakened by the blow to her head and her movements were uncoordinated. She clutched her purse tighter under her arm, and sunk her teeth into the vulnerable meat between his thumb and forefinger. At the same time she was also able to drive one of her sharp heels into his foot. He roared in outrage and released her mouth long enough for her to scream, a deeply satisfying scream that resounded shrilly in the night air. A scream that she regretted in the next instant, even though it would end up saving her life.

"Bitch!" A fist connected hard with her jaw, and she went down.

She collapsed onto the snow-covered pavement and winced as shards of broken glass bit into her freezing palms. Burning currents of pain rocketed up her spine and blurred her thoughts. Someone began to pry her purse away from her while more hands worked to remove her shoes from her feet. She kicked desperately and curled herself into a tight ball around her purse, but she was losing the will to fight back. She tasted acrid blood in her mouth, metallic and salty.

In the end she was no match for the five of them, and soon she was battered, bruised and completely divested of her coat, shoes, and purse, and just when she thought it was finally over, the real fun began. Once their loot was taken, it seemed that they were through with her, but the one who'd been holding her up against the wall by her hair was peering at her intently. The position was rather painful, and she was beginning to squirm, causing something to light up in his eyes.

"Hey, guys," He called in a voice ravaged by cigarette smoke, "She ain't so bad looking either."

"But look at her eyes man," One of them warily made a sign against evil, "That ain't right. I think we ought to split while we still have our souls."

"Nah," Another retorted, "She's just Oikawa's little French whore. I've seen her before."

"Oikawa?" The jackal man who'd smiled at her on the street stopped in his tracks and spun around, white-hot rage burning in his eyes, "That miserable bastard! She's his?"

There was a chorus of affirmatives from the gang. Natsuko knew without being told that this had just condemned her. It was completely pointless to argue that she was actually engaged to their son, who as of yet, hadn't dealt with any criminals. It was most likely the senior Oikawa that had cheated them, but if she said this, they'd never buy it. Why did the Oikawas have to have so many enemies?

She heard some scattered murmurs of excitement from the others, and then the jackal, who was clearly the ringleader turned back to look her over hungrily. It was then that she began to wish she hadn't chosen to wear a skirt. A skirt that was currently hiked up high on her thighs. She also began to wish she wasn't sprawled on the ground in an alley surrounded by a group of strange man. But her wishes, as well as her attempts to escape, had no effect. The way this man was looking at her made her feel physically ill.

His face broke into a carnivorous sneer. He effortlessly produced aknife that glinted in the moonlight as ominously as his teeth, "I suppose we could have a bit of fun with her."

There was a flood of impatient agreements, to which he barked and waved around his weapon threateningly, "I meant we as in _I_. This one's _mine_."

The others hissed in complaint. They didn't want to be denied this rare prize, but it was obvious that they knew better than to challenge his authority. They shrank into the velvet shadows of the alley, lungs overflowing with eery, hollow laughs. They were like a group of feral hyenas, lapping up the fearful excitement their jackal created. Waiting for their turn to access the kill.

"Lâche-moi la paix!" She snarled and writhed in her captor's hold, "You already have what you want!"

This only seemed to excite the jackal more. He had a wounded wolf in his trap. She was still snapping and growling with the frenzied terror that comes to all animals before their deaths, but he knew her strength was rapidly evaporating. He could almost smell the slick, gravelly blood on her palms. It was still fresh, but she had so much more blood left to bleed. He got down on his knees and drew his face level with hers. Close enough to hear every deliciously panicked breath that escaped through her lips.

"Do I now?" His words were so rank with the pungence of decay that she was forced to turn her head in disgust, "Why don't you tell me, girlie, what you think I want."

She shuddered and shrank back, refusing to answer. The hand that held the knife dropped to the hem of her skirt. Then she felt the cold metal blade traveling up her thigh with the serrations pressing uncomfortably into her skin. She shivered and tried to jerk away, but she was backed up against the filthy wall. There was nowhere to go. If it was possible, he looked even more sadistic than before. She could see her look of utter panic reflected in his flinty eyes.

"You know what's coming to you," He whispered triumphantly, "Don't you?"

"Hey!" A new voice echoed down the alleyway accompanied by a blinding flash of light, "What's going on in there?"

"It's the cops!" One of the hyenas shrieked, "Run!"

He bolted, and so did the remaining four. Only the jackal with the knife remained. He tried to see past the light as it advanced down the alley, but the night rendered the person wielding the flashlight completely invisible. He stiffened and sat bolt upright, causing his knife to dig into her thigh in the processes. She moaned in pain, but he was too busy trying to see to notice the pain he'd inflicted. Finally, he decided it wasn't worth the effort and slunk away as soundlessly as he had appeared.

She too tried to see past the light, but found herself squinting. She couldn't tell who it was, but she found that she no longer cared. The snow was beginning to soak through her clothes, making her body go numb. Her head hurt like hell, and she could swear some teeth had come loose in her mouth. Whoever it was, they couldn't possibly be worse than her last visitors. Then, quite suddenly, the figure dropped the flashlight and ran to her side.

"Oh my God," She recognized his concerned voice, but she couldn't place it, "What did they do to you?"

She felt him come up next to her. She flinched and tried to recoil, but two incredibly gentle hands folded around her own, and stilled her. A cry of terror died in her throat, and came out as a startled gasp. She mentally forced her body to calm down enough to stop her hands from trembling, but her heart was still pounding against her rib cage and her breaths were still short and uneven. It almost matched his own irregular breathing. He sounded like he'd just been running at top speed.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," He released her hands, and backed away from her on his knees to allow her some space.

Finally, her eyes adjusted to the new darkness. The moon emerged from behind a rooftop and illuminated his face. At first the light just reflected off his glasses, but then he turned his head, and she recognized him immediately. It was like seeing an angel in the middle of a storm. She could never forget that face now.

Somehow she was able to form choked words, "Monsieur Ishida? What are you doing here?"

"You forgot your cat food. I thought I could still catch you, and then I heard you scream," He panted, and his face quirked into a lopsided grin, that she found herself weakly returning because of the sheer absurdity of the moment, "Are you hurt? Did they . . ."

"No," She finished quickly. She didn't want to hear him finish that sentence.

A look of pure relief washed over him. She looked throughly mangled, but at least he'd stopped them from doing the unthinkable. What was she thinking trying to walk home alone at nightfall? What would've happened if he hadn't left the pet store? Could he ever forgive himself if she got hurt? Her shiver brought him crashing back to reality. It had to be about thirty degrees outside, and she didn't even have a coat anymore.

"We have to get you out of the snow before you freeze to death," He fretted, getting a feeble smile from her, "Don't smile at me! It won't be funny when you have hypothermia!"

She actually giggled, even though it hurt her sides, "Do you always fuss like this?"

Hiroaki just glared. She obediently started to stand up, bracing herself against the slime-covered wall. It looked like she had almost succeeded until she winced and began to slip. Hiroaki darted to catch her, and she flopped into his arms. Then before she could protest, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her. She was surprisingly light, and he was supremely thankful for all the rigorous hours he put into the gym.

Once they were back in the bright warmth of the pet store, he set her down on his stool behind the counter and handed her his coat. She gave him a look of sincere gratitude, and again, he was struck by how blue her eyes were. He reminded himself that they had to be contacts. She draped the coat over herself and let her teeth chatter for a while as the cold chills departed.

"Well I'm certainly not going to let you walk home again," He grinned with all the humor he could manage and handed her the cat food she had purchased previously, "What did they take?"

"My shoes, my purse, and my coat," She sighed wearily and began to scoot her skirt up on her leg to inspect the damage.

"Wow. Well, at least . . ." He stopped abruptly and stared at her, wondering vaguely if he hadn't somehow drifted off to sleep, because this dream was getting better and better, "What . . . what are you doing?"

In answer she inched up her skirt the rest of the way to reveal the jagged crimson gash across her thigh. Hiroaki sucked in a breath, partly because it looked painful, and partly because he didn't know how much more of her flesh he could stand to see before she drove him insane. He knew it was wrong to even notice such things at a time like this, but trying not to notice just made him notice all the more.

He ran his tongue over teeth in an attempt to restore feeling to his mouth and asked her another question, just to distract himself, "How much money did you lose?"

She did not answer at first. She seemed to be calculating the total in her head as she ripped a bunch of Kleenex from the box on the counter. First, she meticulously blotted at the scrapes on her palms, and then she pressed the makeshift bandage against her leg.

"There wasn't much money in my purse, but those shoes cost an arm and a leg," She lowered her head so that her slightly curling hair fell into her face, "They're going to kill me."

"Your parents wouldn't kill you over a pair of shoes," Hiroaki said reassuringly, "I'm sure they'll just be happy you're alright. Let me see your hands."

Natsuko smiled ruefully at this. The truth was, she had no idea how her parents would react because she lived with the Oikawas. But the truth was far too complicated for her to explain. She knew better than to argue with him, so she stuck out her raw, bloody hands. They looked worse than she thought in the light. Her hands were white with cold, and the skin was shredded. Tiny shards of bottle-green glass and pieces of gravel were embedded in the cris-crossing red patchwork of cuts. They looked like they should hurt her, but the pain hadn't registered yet.

He frowned and turned them gingerly in his own large hands, "You're going to have to get this glass out and clean these cuts," He looked up at her with her hands still cradled in his, "May I?"

It sounded painful, and she really didn't want him to, but when he looked at her like that, she couldn't refuse his offer. She just nodded mutely, and closed her eyes, preparing for pain. It never came. Curiously, she opened her eyes and found him staring at her contemplatively.

He reached out and caught her chin between his fingers, "Please relax," As he spoke his deep eyes carefully examined the ominous bruise forming over the side of her mouth, and something that looked like anger flashed inthem briefly, "I won't hurt you."

"I know," She mumbled in a barely perceptible voice.

"Then trust me."

Delicately, he opened her hand all the way until her palm was flat in his. She forced herself to keep her eyes open as he preformed the procedure, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Instead of thinking about the pain that was to come, she absorbed the feel of his hands. For being a road map of calluses, they were surprisingly soft. Everything about him was smoother than it appeared on the surface. She was the one made of fire pokers and needles. Hadn't he noticed that?

He began the operation immediately. As if he were picking a bouquet of daises he plucked out the shards of glass, so quickly that the pain didn't even register. He repeated the same thing with her other hand, and before she knew it, he was finished. A small pile of glass and gravel was now sitting on the counter.

"You'll have to put some antiseptic on that," He let her take her hands back, and compulsively backed away from her to put some distance between them, "I'll take you home if you want"

"You have my gratitude Monsieur, but I'm afraid I cannot accept rides from strangers," Her lips twitched, threatening to turn upwards, "Even strangers who save my life."

"Oh, that's right," He brought his hand back to his lap, even though he desperately wanted to touch her again, "I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Hiroaki Ishida, and I don't really work here. This is my brother's ID."

"I thought something was up when you didn't know your way around," She grinned and ran her fingertips along the counter edge, "But I'm glad you came to work today."

"So am I," The words were out before he could stop himself, and she could only stare.

"I can take you right now," Headded quickly, to erase the previous blunder as soon as possible, "My brother's shift is just about over anyway, and it's not like I'm getting many customers. I'll just close up."

"Alright Hiroaki," He liked the way his name dripped off her lips, soft, and spiced with French, "I think you can handle that."

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Final Note::

Lâche-moi la paix Leave me alone

I don't know French. My friend tells me how to say everything I need to know, so if it is wrong I apologize.


	5. Solstice

For excuses about why Verda isn't updated, see my bio.

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**Part Five - Solstice**

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_And just when he thought he'd broken her spell, he began to drown._

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June was well underway, and the blossoming summer was very distracting. Hiroaki found it almost impossible to get any work done that morning, and finally resigned himself to a restful lunchbreak at his favorite diner to regain his focus. The TV station was right down the street, so he wasn't in any hurry. He had briefly considered asking someone from the station to join him, but had then decided to savor his independence.

He now sat at one of the outdoor tables, pouring over his newspaper and soaking up the sun. How could anyone be expected to work on a day like this? It wasn't hot yet, but it was comfortably warm and breezy. The scents of various plants could be caught drifting through the air, ensnaring the senses and lifting the spirits, even in the heart of the city. The sky was a completely cloudless, mesmerizing blue. As blue as the eyes of that girl. The girl he couldn't seem to get off his mind.

He was beginning to wonder if she even existed. He hadn't seen her since that cold winter night when she'd come to the pet store looking for cat food. After that, she seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. Though he looked, he never saw her again. He even took over some of Takehiro's shifts at the pet store on the off chance that she would return to their meeting place, but it had proved to be a fruitless waste of time, and it was beginning to make his brother suspicious. She had become his Cinderella, except he didn't have a glass slipper, or even a clue where to start looking. For all he knew, she could have boarded a plane and left the country.

Yet, her memory persisted. She haunted his every waking thought, and frequented his subconscious mind. Her hold on him was so supernatural that it couldn't be possible. Perhaps she was a figment of his overwild, undersexed imagination. What is possible that she never existed anywhere outside his own head, and now he was chasing after a dream?

"Monsieur Ishida?" A soft alto with a flowing foreign accent splashed over him like a bucket of ice water.

He started and looked up from his newspaper. There she was, the very thing that he couldn't seem to extricate from his thoughts. Just to remind him that the world could be fabulously rewarding, completely ludicrous, and painfully cruel at the same time. Now he knew how a taunted tiger felt. It couldn't have been any worse if she was tied to string and dangling in front of his face. If he so much as touched her she could easily fade away before his eyes.

She was carrying what appeared to be a heaping pile of lunch items, and she was grinning at him like Christmas had come early. Compared to how he had seen her last, her simple white T-shirt and jeans looked surprisingly casual, but she was still as stunning as ever. Her tumble of honey colored tresses was pinned up on her head with a few curling wisps framing her face. And those eyes. They were exactly the same as he remembered.

The bruise that had marred her face from the attack in the alley was now completely gone. It was impossible now to imagine that if had ever been there, amidst those dainty features and flawless complexion. All the same, it made him wonder if it was truly heeled, or if she was just covering it up with an abundance of make-up. But her smile was genuine, and genuine smiles are contagious.

"I can't believe it's you," She looked absolutely overjoyed, "Can I sit here?"

"Be my guest," Hiroaki set down his paper and watched her carefully arrange her sandwich, soup, and salad so that they would all fit in front of her and not invade his side of the table. She did this with such a careful precision, comparable to a general arranging her troops. If anyone else had done this, he would have found them incredibly annoying, not to mention neurotic, but he found everything this girl did so impossibly . . . cute.

"So, what are you doing here?" He eyed the heaping meal she had gathered for herself, wondering how she planned to cram it all into that small body of hers. A feat like that would surly defy the laws of physics.

"Eating lunch," She said absently tossing croutons into her salad.

"I can see that. Don't you have school today?" He asked cautiously.

"I might," Was the cool reply.

Hiroaki knew that there was no good response to that vague remark, so he remained quiet. It really wasn't any of his business whether she went to school or not, and he didn't want to antagonize her about it. Driving her away was not high on his list of priorities. She didn't seem like she wanted to be conversational until she consumed her meal, so he dipped his head under the pretense of reading his newspaper, while she proceed to wolf down her sandwich.

She finished the entire thing in record time, and the spectacle was so amusing that focusing on his newspaper was a hopeless task. She devoured it so quickly that it was almost graceful, though he knew it couldn't be healthy. He read the same line five times, before giving up.

"Do they feed you where you come from?" He finally said.

"Sometimes," She managed to reply before switching her attention to the salad.

Hiroaki didn't know what to make of this. She was probably just pulling his chain, but he couldn't be absolutely certain that she hadn't meant what she said. She hadn't said it with any deep conviction, but after she spoke he began to notice just how slender her wrists and arms were. Maybe he was just making something out of nothing. Come to think of it, how did he become so concerned for her well-being in the first place? One would think that he almost cared for her.

A hazy, sunlit silence descended over them while he pondered his next words, and she focused on etching something into her sandwich plate with the teeth of her fork. He would never have taken her to be a property destroyer, but he also wouldn't have thought her to be the school skipping type. She never ceased to continue flipping over new leaves right before his eyes.

"I named my cat," She finally set down her fork sounding very pleased with herself, both by the mastery of her carving and at the fact that she had named her cat.

"Really," He eagerly latched onto this topic that she seemed to be willing to discuss. Maybe now he'd glean some more understanding of this peculiar girl, "And what name have you decided on?"

"Ishi, after my savior," She beamed, "I thought you'd like to know."

"I'm honored," Hiroaki cracked a wry smile, and ventured another toe into more dangerous waters, "Is this the occasion for skipping school?"

She didn't react nearly as defensively as he thought she would. She just calmly measured him with those arresting eyes, as if he'd asked her about the weather, "It really isn't any of your business, but if you must know, it's my birthday today."

She was frustratingly fascinating in that way. She never did or said what he wanted or expected her to. When she looked at him like that, he was reminded of looking into the unblinking eyes of dog. She had the same calm, understanding, and slightly faraway look about her, as if she always had something more she needed, but couldn't bring herself to say. Instead, everything she said was deceptively simple.

"And how old are you?" He asked. Now was the moment of truth. Did he really want to know?

"Seventeen," Her eyes dropped to her lap, "And I'm probably going to get another elaborate birthday present that I don't want, so I intend to enjoy myself now."

Hiroaki's mouth went dry. _Seventeen_. Somehow he'd always known it was something like that, but now, he couldn't lie to himself. And if she was only just seventeen, that would mean she was a mere sixteen when he met her. The age when most girls were going out with their highschool sweethearts, traveling through the malls in packs, taking magazine quizzes, chewing bubble gum and learning to drive. But here she was, gumless, and looking like somebody's secretary. A secretary that nobody's wife would approve of.

She was far too young for him to be contemplating her the way he was, but she seemed genuinely interested in his company, and he could deny her nothing. For once in his life, he decided to conveniently forget that little piece of information she'd just given him, and not spare it a second thought. Instead he focused on the other half of what she had said.

"Why wouldn't you want presents?" He asked.

"Because I know they are just trying to appease me," Again she mentioned the ambiguous 'they', which Hiroaki could assume anything from without making her tell him an outright lie, "Ishi was a gift from them too."

"But, you seem to like him," He pointed out with a slightly sardonic look, "Enough to name him after a complete stranger."

"I _love_ my cat," Her cerulean eyes sparkled with something that made him want to shudder and sigh at the same time, "But I don't need anymore fancy new clothes or computers."

"Personally, I wouldn't mind free stuff, but your own life is your own prerogative I guess," He leaned forward on his hands and studied her for a moment, formulating what he was going to say in his mind, "If you'll excuse my audacity, I have two burning questions that I simply must ask."

"You may ask any questions you like," She smiled coyly, "However, answers are not guaranteed."

"Alright then mysterious one," He began with what he wanted to know most, "Do you think you can find it within you to tell me your name?"

She ran a hand through over hair and thought for a moment about giving him a fake name, but her lips automatically offered him the truth, "Natsuko."

"Summer's child, born on the solstice," He leaned back and reflected on the meaning with a hazy look in his eyes. It was the most ill suited name for a icy eyed, thick coated, wolf, but it made a weird sort of sense. He studied her intently and then decided to delve deeper, "Just Natsuko?" He pried so gently and had such hypnotic eyes that she almost told him what he wanted to know, but she'd already revealed too much.

She didn't know why, but she was willing to do anything to prevent him from finding out about the Oikawas. It was completely ridiculous when she thought about it. Did she think he'd care if she had a fiancé? She couldn't possibly harbor anything but completely platonic feelings for him, and it was only natural for her to be kind to her savior, so what was her problem? Something in the back of her mind told her that she knew exactly what the problem was, but she refused to acknowledge it. That was crossing the line into dangerous territory, and she wasn't ready to deal with anything dangerous.

"Well, I suppose Suko if you like," She hoped her careful evasion would end his pursuit, but he was not to be dissuaded.

Hiroaki chuckled, "I mean, no last name?"

She just regarded him thoughtfully with the most enigmatic look he'd ever seen, "We may get to that someday. What's your next question?"

That settled the issue and there was no going back. He wanted to press her until he had his answer, but there was something ferocious in her eyes now. She hid it well under the glacial layers of blue, but it was there, burning with all the passion of the raging summer that was her namesake. There were some things that he could never make her say, and if he continued to push her, it would become a contest of wills. A contest that she would easily win. No matter how small she appeared to be, she could still tear him to pieces.

"I've noticed you have a very distinct accent," How could he not notice? He felt silly even saying it, but he wanted to hear her story, "What nationality is it? You'll have to forgive my ignorance when it comes to western culture."

"It's French," She replied easily. Obviously, she got asked this question quite frequently, and she had answers prepared, "I lived in France until I was eight years old."

Now Hiroaki began to wish he'd paid more attention to his geography. He knew France was a country in Europe, and French was one of the romance languages. They even offered French classes at his old highschool, though most people opted for English. But for all this ready information, he wasn't absolutely sure exactly where France was located. If it was filled with people who looked like this girl, perhaps it wouldn't be a waste of time to find out.

"France," He repeated thoughtfully, "That's interesting. So your eyes are real then?" He realized instantly what he had said, and his face faltered, "I mean, I know your eyes are real, but you aren't . . ."

"Wearing contacts?" She finished with another easy answer to a common question, "No."

For the first time he really looked at them, knowing he wouldn't be seeing something false. Her admission was like an unspoken offering that bared her soul him. Those eyes were a window to everything he didn't know, but he could never hope to interpret them. Every time she looked at him he was given an explicit depiction of her current feelings, but that didn't mean the description was in a language he understood. Now she was allowing him time to decipher.

For someone so fiery, her eyes were incredibly cold. They were a sheet of ice, riddled with cracks and fissures of deeper blue. And there was something else he'd never seen before in her. Pain. Pain that evaded all the barriers he'd placed around himself and broke his heart. This brought forth the relentless question that would torment him for many nights, and he'd never be satisfied until he had his answer.

_How was it possible for someone so beautiful to be so sad?_

"It looks like your finished," He indicated to her now bare dishes, "Do you want me to take you home?"

Her reply was simple, "I'd like that."


	6. The Rules

**Part Six - The Rules**

_No matter how consuming Love may be, Society has its own laws that cannot be broken without consequences._

He took her back to the same place he'd taken her last time. This clinically nondescript apartment complex was the home that he was always returning her to. Now, it felt as if this place was summoning her back out of existence. He'd soon wake up and find that she was all a sapphire colored dream. She'd be gone, and he'd go through all the defunct motions of his life again. He didn't even know her, but she was quickly consuming every remnant of meaning he thought he'd found in his life.

Did really he have so little to live for that this girl could mean so much to him?

He pulled up to the sidewalk with a stoic expression on his face and waited for her to exit the car, with the customary long look and a swift goodbye. Then he'd watch her disappear through the front doors and nurse the wounds she'd inevitably leave behind. Except this time, he promised himself he'd try better to forget all about her. She didn't move.

"Isn't this the place?" He asked curiously.

"Yes," She wouldn't meet his eyes. She stared intently at the dashboard in from of her and sighed tremulously, "But I want . . . I mean, I was wondering, if you'd like to meet Ishi."

Why did they sound like a pair of thirteen year olds on a first date? This entire situation was ridiculous when he thought about it. It was preposterous. It was absurd. It was a bunch of other words he could think of right now. One would think they'd known each other a life time the way they were carrying on. In truth, they knew next to nothing about one another. What made her think he wasn't some kind of twisted serial killer just waiting to get her alone?

"Hiroaki?" Her faltering voice made him realize he hadn't answered her yet.

"I . . . sure, I guess," A small part of him wondered just how far they could take this before things began getting weird, but he was in too deep to turn back to shore now, "That is, if . . . will your parents mind?"

"They aren't home," She mumbled, looking at him through a curtain of inky eyelashes.

"What?" Hiroaki whirled and faced her, with a strange look on his face, "I don't know then Natsuko. Perhaps this isn't such a good idea."

He was suddenly extremely uneasy about the entire situation. Seeing her in public was one thing, but going into her home with no parental supervision was quite another. She was distractingly beautiful, and he wasn't exactly the paragon of restraint. He needed something to take his attention off the fact that this girl sitting beside him was inviting him into a potentially disastrous situation.

"Please Hiroaki," She stuck out her bottom lip and gave him a pleading look, "It'll be alright. They won't mind." She conveniently left out the fact that she didn't intend for the Oikawas to _ever_ find out.

He still looked wary, of the idea. He was biting the inside of his cheek and was pointedly avoiding looking at her. He was also beginning to fiddle nervously with car lock. The rhythmic clicking was soothing on his nerves, but it was beginning to irritate her. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"You're going to break that," She placed a tiny, yet firm hand on his shoulder and spoke in a falsely serious tone that eventually deteriorated into a burst of effervescent giggles, "I _promise_ I won't try and take advantage of you. I'll be a good girl."

Hiroaki gulped and looked her up and down surreptitiously, "That's not what I'm worried about."

Natsuko didn't seem to notice. Either that or she didn't seem to care, and it was hard to tell which it was. She gave him the biggest puppy eyes he'd ever seen, and snatched his arm away from the car lock. At this close proximately he could smell something that reminded him of Sakura blossoms in her hair, but it wasn't that. It was something entirely her own that he could put a name to. He had this crazy impulse to yank those golden tresses out of their fancy up do, and run his fingers through them. He curled his hands into fists against the temptation.

"Would you do it for my birthday?" She was using those eyes against him, shamelessly, and it was working.

He sighed and brought a hand up to massage his temples. What had he done to deserve this?

Ten minutes later she was letting herself into the Oikawas' apartment with Hiroaki at her heels.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" He sighed with exasperation and stole a guilty look around to make sure nobody was watching them from the hallway.

"Because you like me," She smiled sweetly, even through her admonition that followed, "And stop acting so nervous. We're not robbing a bank."

She pushed the door open, and it swung inward to reveal the biggest apartment Hiroaki had ever seen. The spacious living area was lavish and costly, without a single crystal ornament or priceless painting out of place. Around the corner was a room that he could only assume was the kitchen, and another sitting room. Two more hallways branched off the main room, each leading to even more doors. This was definitely not a home with children living in it. It looked like the whole place would shatter if he touched one thing wrong. On the whole, it was just as white and sterilized as the building looked on the outside.

"Ishi!" Natsuko cried happily and dropped to her knees.

A little ball of sinuous marmalade colored fur slithered out from under one of the couches and chirped a greeting. He was a young cat, barely out of his kittenhood with lanky limbs and a short orange coat. Hiroaki had never really seen a cat up close before, so the whole experience was a novelty to him. Ishi's whiskers were long and dainty, and his huge ears constantly swivelled curiously, picking up even the slightest noise and taking it in. He had a tiny pink nose, a flicking tail, and his weight was completely supported on four, furry little paws. He accepted Natsuko's shower of affection appreciatively, arching his back and purring his pleasure.

"Ishi, this is Hiroaki," Natsuko explained to the cat, who seemed to be too wrapped up in her petting to pay any attention, "He's a friend of mine."

However, once she ceased petting him, the marmalade tabby blinked and fixed Hiroaki with his swirling yellow eyes, as if sizing up his intentions. His pupils were piercing slits, and combined with the coal black lining around the rims, they were an altogether discomforting sight. He had never come face to face with a cat before, and he found himself quite intimidated by the small creature. Those eyes were like ex-rays to the soul. No wonder he'd never considered himself a cat person. Perhaps she'd leave the introductions at that.

"You can pet him if you want," She said cheerfully, dashing all his hopes.

"Will . . . he bite?" Hiroaki asked hesitantly. Not that it mattered. He'd probably pet a sabertooth tiger if she told him to. How had she gotten such a hold on him?

"Of course not," She seemed to find his trepidation quite humorous, a fact that wounded his pride more than a little, "He's a cat, not a piranha."

"Same thing," Hiroaki muttered under his breath.

She shot him a scathing look, but chose not to comment. He realized that even in her anger she was positively delectable. He was never going to get her off his mind at this rate. How come he wasn't even trying?

Tentatively he reached out a hand and placed it on the cat's silky back. Ishi just looked at him imperiously, as if he knew his feeble attempt at petting would be exceedingly boring at best. Once he was satisfied that the cat wouldn't chomp his hand off, Hiroaki stroked his back the way he'd seen Natsuko do it, except extremely gentle and in one direction. Ishi yawned, displaying an impressive amount of miniature teeth, stretched, and walked off, tail in the air.

"I don't think he likes me much," Hiroaki smirked, knowing the feeling was mutual.

"Nonsense," Natsuko insisted, "He just needs some time to get used to you. He usually runs away from anyone but me."

"I never would have thought that they'd even let you have a cat in this place," He took in their pristine surroundings with one sweep of his eyes, "You must really have them wrapped around your finger."

"Well they aren't happy about giving him to me anymore," She stood up and brushed orange fur off her jeans, letting it rain onto the carpet, "He shredded some of the furniture when we first got him, so they had him declawed. Then they asked me if it was possible to have him defurred as well."

Again, a weighty silence settled over them. Hiroaki was trying to imagine how Natsuko could have lived in this sterile museum as a child. Her parents must've followed her around with hand sanitizer and a feather duster. Or it might've been easier to just surround her with childproof fences. Either way it explained why she, just like everything else in the apartment, was beautiful and breakable. Natsuko, for her part, was busy forming her own questions.

"How old are you, Hiroaki?" She asked suddenly.

"I thought you said you weren't going to try to seduce me," He teasingly raised an eyebrow, she punched him lightly in the arm.

"It's just a question," She insisted with a small smile on her face, "I told lots of things about me, but I was just realizing that I don't really know anything about you."

Hiroaki sighed and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He knew it would come to this eventually, "I'm twenty-three."

She nodded to herself, "Interesting," He was younger than her fiancé.

"What's so interesting about that?" He demanded.

She just looked at him through lupine eyes, like she knew a secret that she'd never tell. He had a maddening urge to back her into the nearest immaculate piece of furniture and kiss every mystery out of her. Maybe just to get this place a little dirty, maybe just because he wanted her, or maybe both. He had to get out of her apartment before he did just that.

"Well, I think I have to be back at work now," He checked his watch and realized that he was already fifteen minutes overdue from his lunch break. How had he lost track of time?

"Alright," She bit her lip and finally forced out the words she'd always wanted to tell him, "Thank you Hiroaki. For everything."

"It was nothing," He put his hand on the doorknob to open it, but froze when he heard the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock.

Before either of them could react, the door was open and they both blanched, caught in the act. He wasn't even sure what act they'd committed, but whatever it was, it made him feel guilty. As pale as Hiroaki was, that didn't even compare with how quickly the color drained from Natsuko's face. She looked like a wild band of ax murderers had just surrounded them.

There was a man in the doorway who was probably no more than few years older than Hiroaki, though his face made him look much older. It was thin and pale with thick eyebrows and deep, dark eyes. He was tall, about as tall as Hiroaki himself, with well-kept slick, black hair. He didn't look angry yet, only mildly surprised to see the two people standing frozen in his living room.

"Yurkio," Natsuko gasped in relief and slumped against a wall with a hand on her forehead.

Hiroaki didn't see any reason why she should be feeling relieved about the whole situation, but his throat was sandpapery with shock, so he decided to remain quiet. Natsuko knew better what was going on anyway. He could see that her breathing had still not returned to normal and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her terror was only just beginning to subside. He didn't understand what could have frightened her so bad.

"Natsuko?" Yurkio stepped into the room and regarded Hiroaki curiously, "Who is your friend?"

Natsuko made a strange sound that indicated that she was still recovering from her near nervous breakdown. Hiroaki could practically see the gears in her mind stopping and operating quickly in reverse as she tried to formulate a fast answer, "This . . . this is Hiroaki Ishida. He's the guy who saved me from the muggers that day when I went to the pet store."

"Oh, how wonderful," Yurkio smiled pleasantly and bowed in Hiroaki's direction, "Yurkio Oikawa, delighted to make your acquaintance. Now I finally have a chance to thank you in person. That was a very noble act of yours, saving my fiancee from almost certain defilement. I do hope she's given you something to show our gratitude."

Hiroaki was stunned speechless. He could have sworn he'd just heard this man say something about Natsuko being his fiancee. But that was impossible. First of all, he looked like he could be her father, and second of all, if she was someone's fiancee, she would have mentioned it before now. Wouldn't she? He searched her eyes for some indication that this man hadn't said what he thought he had, but she gave him the briefest of watery looks before turning away from him.

"Uh . . ." His voice cracked on emotion he didn't even know he had, and he had to clear his throat to continue, "Thanks."

Yurkio looked puzzled by his response, but Hiroaki neither noticed nor cared. He was still looking at Natsuko. He couldn't take his eyes off her, no matter how painful her silence was. She was still doing an admirable job of avoiding his gaze. There was something defeated about her now, and he almost felt bad for her. Until, he remembered what she hadn't said. Yurkio moved in front of him still smiling that ridiculously oblivious smile that clashed horribly with his gaunt face. This effectively blocked her from his sight.

"I should get you something to show our respects," Yurkio beamed, pleased with himself for thinking of it, and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen, "I'll be right back."

Hiroaki only barely heard him. He felt sick and lightheaded all at once. Like he'd just been spun around on a merry-go-round and run ten miles at the same time. He couldn't be here any longer.

"That won't be necessary," He could only manage a hoarse whisper. The air in this room was suddenly suffocating.

And then, before either of them could stop him, he left without saying goodbye.

"I wonder why he left in such a hurry," Yurkio paused and spoke to Natsuko once the door was closed, but she didn't respond, "Suko?"

He turned to look at his future bride and found that her eyes were the glassy blue of unshed tears. Something was afoot here. Something more than she was letting on.


	7. November

A/N - I've noticed some major flaws in my previous chapters that I intend to revise eventually. But for now, I'll just continue to post chapters until the story is complete, despite the fact that only a handful of people seem to be actually reading it.

* * *

**Part Seven - November**

_How does one look past a lie?_

* * *

The summer came and went before they saw each other again. November was upon her before she could blink. It seemed now that the days of her life were falling away faster than the dying leaves. But they were just dry husks of days now, propelled on by a wind she had no control over, and leading up to a winter who's chill she could already feel gathering in her toes and fingertips. Seventeen was already halfway over, and when Eighteen came, marriage would come with it.

And Hiroaki was gone.

She knew she shouldn't have lied to him, but she'd convinced herself that it wasn't lying if he never asked. She always knew that ideology would fall to pieces eventually, but she didn't want him to be the one who got hurt. And now, how could she expect him to forgive her? How could she possibly explain how badly she treated those she cared about the most?

_Did she care for Hiroaki? _

It had been growing on her so quietly she hadn't realized it at first, but now it was undeniable. When had he become important to her? Why was November colder than she ever remembered? But it didn't matter anymore now. He was never coming back. Her attempts to conceal the truth had been her undoing. In his eyes, she'd forever be a liar. And maybe she was.

She huddled into her coat and opened the diner door. A current of welcome, warm air hit her and she savored it. Her eyes searched the room for a place to sit, and then they fell on _him_. Her heart lurched, and she had a terrible desire to just run out of the restaurant and pretend she'd never seen him. But then he looked up, as if he felt her eyes, and instantly their gazes locked. Tongue-tied didn't even begin to describe how she felt.

As if on their own volition, her feet carried her over to his table. She stopped in front of him, and he eyed her expectantly. His captivating brown eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"May I sit here?" She squeaked.

"If you must," His voice was cold. So cold that she nearly turned tail and ran.

She didn't meet his glaring eyes as she slid into the booth. He was sitting with his coat still on and a bowl of steaming, reddish colored soup in front of him. He looked weary, as if he hadn't slept properly for many nights, but there was also something lethal about him. It was coiled just beneath the surface, ready to strike out at her if she didn't play her cards carefully.

"So you're not through messing with me yet are you, _Mademoiselle_?" He was using her own French against her, to mock her and distance himself. She almost asked him, how he'd learned the word, but she knew he wasn't in the mood for a subject change.

"I was never messing with you, Hiroaki," She said softly, "You've got to believe me."

He scoffed and stirred his soup absently, watching it swirl helplessly. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore, "Dammit Suko, you have a fiancé."

"Yes," She replied evenly, without a hint of emotion, even though she was trembling inside.

He set down the spoon with a startling clank and leaned across the table, speaking in a low, venomous voice, "Care to tell me why you didn't mention that sooner?"

"I . . ." She stuttered and looked around, realizing that they were indeed getting a lot of attention from other tables. She lowered her voice to a whisper and finished shakily, "I didn't think it would be important."

"Oh, so it's not important that you've been making me feel . . ." He paused and gave her an inexplicable look of pain and anger, "Making me feel as if you might be mine, when you had a fiancé the whole time. It's bad enough that you're only _seventeen_ years old."

"I didn't mean to let it go this far," She murmured, stunned by his confession as much as his tone, "I had no idea things between us would become what they are."

"And what _exactly_ do you think is going on between us, because I've obviously been thinking wrong," He demanded.

"I don't know," That was all she said. It hung in the silence between them. She knew it wasn't enough.

Under different circumstances they never would have met, but they had, and now nothing was in their control anymore. They could pretend they knew what they were doing all they wanted, but the truth was far less rational. It was like explaining why skydivers have urges to jump out of planes. Veering off course just to feel the rapid thump of exhilarating trepidation building in one's chest, wild eyed and out of control.

"Well neither do I," He scowled into his untouched soup, determined not to fall helpless to those eyes, "And I have half a mind to take you back to school."

"Why don't you try it?" She shrugged out of her coat and slumped back into the booth defiantly. She knew it was rather childish of her, but she didn't care, "I dare you."

"You know what you're problem is?" He jabbed his spoon at her, as if he was making a denouncing accusation, "You just don't like anybody telling you what to do."

"Yes," She said matter-of-factly, " Doesn't everybody?"

"Well, to some extent I suppose," He allowed her that much. He regarded her thoughtfully, and she squirmed under his gaze, "But I've never met anyone as contrary as you."

"You'd be contrary too if people were always treating you like property," She said it with a light scowl and crossed her arms over her chest, half serious and pouting, but it was the truest thing she'd ever said. That sad eventuality of her life was as unescapable as the coming winter.

"It's because you're beautiful," His tone took a surprising turn for sober, and she balked. Was that sympathy in his eyes?

She tried to read his face for some indication of his thoughts, but those eyes held a piercing sobriety that was almost frightening. He understood something that she was only beginning to comprehend, and trying to follow him was hopeless. For the first time ever she became aware of the fact that he was much more worldly that her, and she didn't know if that notion was more comforting or irritating. He was taking pity on her the way an adult would take pity on a child who doesn't know any better.

"What?" He could feel her searching him for the answers to a question she could only begin to ask, so he gave her clarity.

"People always think they can own beautiful things," He murmured in an undertone like a man confessing before a priest, "Like paintings, and exotic animals, and girls like you. You match their fancy settings and look perfect in their pretty clothes, so they think you're only fit to be bought, traded and fought over."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and all the words she had wanted to say shattered before they reached her lips. He had just ripped the mask off the truth and shoved it painfully into her face. There it was, laid out in black and white, like a photograph. A photograph that embodied all the thousands of words that had inhabited the darkest places of her mind as long as she could remember. She lived her life in a glass house of denial. Perhaps there was indeed a monster under her bed, but if she never looked she'd never have to know. Hiroaki's words forced her to look, and what she saw was ugly.

She didn't know what it was, but everything Hiroaki said or did forced her to examine everything about herself, and more and more, she began to discover how deplorable her life had become. She didn't want to look, but something compelled her to keep returning to the mirror he presented. How did she end up like this, and what could he possibly see in her? How could he ever hope to fix her?

"How did you know that?" She whispered.

"I notice things," He spoke quietly in that serious tone that transfixed her helplessly, "Women were always commodities to my father. I was never particularly attractive myself, so I got the other end of the deal. Nobody cared what happened to me because I'd never be worth selling, but I also got unlimited freedom."

"I wouldn't say you are unattractive, Hiroaki," He was acutely aware of her sizing him up with those bottomless eyes, "I definitely wouldn't keep seeking you out if you were ugly."

"Yes, you keep returning to me, and I'm not strong enough to turn you away," He sighed and looked away, staring out the diner windows as if they held all the answers, "You will be the death of me."

Then his gaze swung back to meet hers head on. There was an unspoken challenge in that darkness. He wanted her to prove that his words were wrong. But she couldn't do that. Beneath her bewitching appearance she was a killer and a liar, and they both knew it.

"Perhaps," She simpered wolfishly, "How badly do you want to die?"

"I don't know," His hands flew out and captured hers, "It seems I don't know anything anymore."

A torrent of shivers ran though her at his touch, and the feeling only intensified when she saw the look in his eyes. A deep sincerity flecked with sparkles of desire, and something else she couldn't identify. The last time he'd done that she hadn't felt the heat in her veins and the fluttering in her stomach that she was feeling now. This disease was definitely getting worse.

She shivered and surrendered to the urge to lean closer to him, "And what would you have me say Monsieur?"

"Tell me this is silly, and I haven't got a chance with you," He growled dangerously, but she could hear the plea in his voice, "Tell me to leave you alone."

He had all but admitted to being attracted to her, and she was soaking it up like sunlight on a withered plant. It is a heady experience to know that one is wanted, and she relished in the powerful feeling that flooded through her. She didn't need more attention from the opposite sex, but she always craved it anyway, and Hiroaki had proved to be the perfect outlet. It was cruel and hurtful, and there had to be something wrong with her, but it wasn't as if there wasn't any reciprocation on her part. He friends would tell her it was just as bad as dating a teacher. He wasn't her teacher, so it couldn't be that bad. But he wasn't her fiancé either.

"I'd tell you but we'd both know I don't mean it, so I hardly see the point," She tossed her hair over her shoulder, drunk on this new feeling.

With that she stood up, grabbed her things and sauntered away. She grinned to herself when she heard him tripping fanatically out of the booth after her. It was one of those rare times she was grateful to be small. She could certainly outmaneuver him and disappear into a crowd if she wanted if she wanted. Not that she wouldn't let him catch her of course.

She slid through the doors, dodged past a few bewildered people, and had only just made it past the diner windows when he caught up with her. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back towards him. She put up a bit of a feeble struggle, but in the end, she allowed him to pull her closer until she was level with his eyes.

A ravenous wind raced through the city streets like a pack of wolves. Chills tore at her ears and cheeks, pinching a slight rosy hue into them. He resisted the cold better than her. He didn't even seem to notice the icy gusts running furrows through his hairs. His eyes were intent on her and her alone. The misty puffs of condensation from his breath mingled with her own.

"What did you mean by that?" He demanded in an unmistakably firm voice. There was no way she could pretend she didn't remember or didn't care.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" She countered. She was very aware of how provoking she was being, but the confrontation was exhilarating. A spark of heat in this paralyzing cold.

"Why do you always answer my questions with questions?" He snapped. Apparently he didn't find her games any amount of fun anymore, which was a shame, because she wasn't going to cooperate so easily.

"Why do you always answer _my_ questions with questions?" Was her ready response.

"Now you're just trying to change the subject," His voice was still surprisingly level. After receiving a look from a passing couple, he relinquished her arm slightly.

"Oh am I?" She raised that eyebrow again, so unconsciously tempting.

"Yes!" He hissed, "Would you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" She absently licked her lips and everything he had just been thinking flooded out of his head in a split second.

"Teasing me," He croaked weakly.

"Don't be silly," She was also speaking differently now, gravelly and soft at the same time, "It's only teasing if I don't intend to finish was I started."

He gaped at her like a beached fish and managed to force out a few strangled words, "You can't possibly . . . I, we, you . . . you're getting married!"

"I believe you've already reminded me once this afternoon Monsieur Ishida," Her heated fingertips traced over his lips, closing his mouth and setting his nerves on fire.

"Maybe I just need to remind myself," He muttered.

And then something happened that neither of them could explain. Looking back on it neither Natsuko, nor Hiroaki could ever say who started it. Everything they'd been holding back exploded, like a shaken bottle of soda. She stood up on her tiptoes, snaking her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. His cupped her chin in his hands and dipped his head, driven by the intoxicating feel of her body pressed against his.

He had just the faintest taste of her lips on his before the rude interruption.

"Hiroaki!" Someone shouted.

At the sound of his name he jerked back and looked around. Natsuko hastily sprang away from him, cheeks burning with more than just the cold.

The man approaching them was about Hiroaki's age with a head full of thick black hair that fell in every direction. His eyes were dark and piercing, but there was a humorous light in them that spoke of a fun loving spirit. He was grinning and racing toward them. Under any other circumstances Hiroaki would have been glad to see his friend, but not when he'd been so close slaking some of the hunger that was eating him alive. Now she was off the hook, and his blood was still boiling.

"Hey, Susumu," Hiroaki greeted his friend and wearily conceded that he had just missed his chance with Natsuko, "How's it going?"

"Oh. Can't complain," The other man's laughing eyes suddenly fell on Natsuko, as if he was just noticing her, and studied her with intense interest. He'd seen that Hiroaki was standing with a woman from a distance, but he hadn't been paying her much attention. Upon seeing her face to face his curiosity was piqued. She was lovely, tiny and curvy, and a teenager. What was Hiroaki doing with her? She couldn't been a relation. Relations didn't do what he'd seen them just about to do.

"So Ishida, who's your pretty little friend?" He purred teasingly.

Hiroaki rolled his eyes and turned to address the girl first, "Natsuko, this is Susumu Yagami. Sometimes I'm embarrassed to call him my friend. Susumu this is Natsuko."

"Pleased to meet you," She murmured in a thick, accented voice.

"Likewise," Susumu leered flirtatiously. It wasn't so much that he wanted to hit on her, but he was testing to see how far he could push before Hiroaki got territorial. His friend's reaction would tell him a lot more than any amount of words. Besides, she _was_ pretty, and he could never _not_ be charming around pretty girls.

Natsuko flushed an even deeper shade of red when he experimentally leaned closer to her. Invading her personal space and laying on the suave. He knew he was good looking, and his attention was beginning to fluster her. Hiroaki didn't like it, but he knew Susumu was testing him. He could _not_ overreact, or the questions would never end.

"Leave her alone Susumu," He spoke with as much control as he could command, but he couldn't keep the slightly annoyed edge out of his voice.

"You know I was just playing around, Hiroaki. I like my women brown-eyed and full-blooded oriental. You on the other hand . . ." His dark eyes darted mischievously between her and Hiroaki, "So what _are_ you two doing out here anyway? Nothing illicit I presume."

"We were just having a conversation," Hiroaki retorted defensively, "Which isn't against the law."

"Pretty hard to talk with your lips locked together," Susumu said innocently, "But that's just the direction I saw the 'conversation' going in. You may correct me if I'm wrong."

Neither of them had anything to say to that. He had caught them. Victory was delicious. But then he realized that neither of them were laughing at his sparkling wit, and neither of them were admitting to anything. Something told him that perhaps the situation he'd walked into was much more sticky than he thought. The girl shot a loaded look at Hiroaki which he returned before bringing his eyes back to his friend.

"Who are you going to tell?" He asked.

"I . . ." Susumu stuttered, suddenly very ashamed of exposing them, "Come to think of it, I don't even know what I really saw. Can't tell anybody anything if I didn't see anything."

Natsuko smiled softly and Susumu had to admit that her eyes were rather entrancing, for a slippy foreign girl, "I think I'll leave you two now. I should be heading home anyway."

She started to walk away, but Hiroaki darted after her. Susumu's eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he saw the fervent looks they exchanged. Maybe they didn't quite know how to handle their attraction, but their unspoken communication was excellent. She slowed to a stop when he put a hand on her shoulder.

Hiroaki studied her face before he spoke, and that study he found was mostly limited to her mouth. Her round, fresh-picked cherry mouth. He wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her, but he couldn't do anything with Susumu watching them. He thought one kiss would cure him, but now that little taste of her would never be enough.

He settled for pulling her into his chest so that he could whisper in her ear without being overheard. She did not resist, so he settled his arms around her and carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. He fought the urge to inhale the scent of it, and spoke, in a voice so low that the vibrations carried through her bones.

"I just want you to know that I will not sit idly by while you toy with me," His lips brushed against the shell of her ear as he spoke, and the feeling nearly drove both of them out of their minds, "I want you, and I don't even care how old you are anymore. But you have to make up you mind because I don't do adultery."

But that was a lie. For her, he would do anything, and it was beginning to scare him. For the sake of his own sanity she could never know that.

"You don't even realize what you're doing to me," He continued, "You're not even out of highschool. How could you possibly realize? You just enjoy toying with me, don't you?."

"Oh really," Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and he could almost feel her molten anger, "And who says I would even _consider_ what you are suggesting? You've got a lot of nerve patronizing _me_ Mr. Pure and Holy! I'm not an ignorant little girl, and I won't have you treating me like one!" Her handle on Japanese was teetering perilously with every word she spoke, and finally she gave up even trying. Her next words were a wrathful barrage of indecipherable French.

He wanted to smack her, but he still had the equally overpowering urge to kiss her. She was sexy when she was angry, and he was finding it increasingly harder to concentrate. Whenever they even came near each other emotions seemed to spark and flare uncontrollably, like a horrible parasitic outbreak, killing everything in sight. Now they were burning alive, and their bodies could no longer contain the heat. If this argument erupted past a certain point, he would either drag her off to bed, or murder her, or maybe both, and he couldn't explain why.

"You're wrong," He caught her tiny wrist in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes while he tried to explain to her, "Regardless of how much we want to get around it, you _are_ just a girl. But nothing I can say will make you see that."

She tried to spin away from him, but he held on, gentle to make sure he didn't hurt her, but firm enough that she couldn't evade. He knew it was unfair of him to use his strength against her, but it was also unfair of her to manipulate him in the way she was. When she realized that she could not struggle out of his grasp, she made a noise of frustration and wheeled on him, eyes blazing.

"Let go of me," She snarled in a low voice.

She couldn't have been more serious. There was something profoundly terrified in her eyes now. She tried to hide it behind anger and indignation, but he was acutely aware of her body language. He could feel her slight tremble a see the panic in her dilated pupils. She was afraid, and her calm demand was her last defense. If he tried to overpower her now, she would never trust him again.

With an unreadable expression Hiroaki released her, "As you wish."

She jumped back immediately and took off down the street, disappearing into the collage of black and grey coats. The Oikawas' apartment was two and half blocks away, and she wouldn't stop running until she got there. The sky was a grey overcast, and the searing November wind was still howling through the city. As the first snowflakes began to fall, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, numb to the cold.

She never looked back, and he made no attempt to follow.


	8. Another Promise

A/N - Sorry this took so long. I've been dealing with some personal issues lately.

* * *

**Part Eight - Another Promise**

_One finds salvation in the oddest of places._

* * *

She stormed into the Oikawa's apartment like a hailstorm on a Florida beach full of tourists. She desperately needed to pound something to a pulp to diffuse some of her rage. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the entire apartment she could punch without suffering the dire consequences. She growled furiously and settled for slamming the door. It closed like a whip, and she felt the air rush past, grabbing at her hair and raking across her face. The rotund slam that resulted was even more gratifying, in more ways than she could ever explain.

Not only had Hiroaki said things she didn't want to hear, but most of what he said was too true to be ignored. And she hated him for it, but she could still taste his breath in her mouth and feel his velvet lips against her ear, and she didn't know what she wanted anymore. He was confusing her emotions and smearing them together until they all became the same unidentifiable color. It was turning her into a breathless emotional wreck. She wanted something with alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

"Good afternoon, Suko," A board sounding voice drifted over to her from the area of the living room, "Please refrain from slamming doors. You know that could cause property damage."

She faltered for a moment but quickly recovered from her alarm. It was only Yurkio, home surprisingly early for a weekday. If she wasn't so incensed about her drama with Hiroaki she might have wondered why, but at the moment, nothing seemed to be registering in her mind. As an afterthought, she decided check the living room, just to make sure he was the only one home.

To her relief, it was indeed only Yurkio. He was seated on one of the ivory colored sofas with a pile of reports spread out in front of him on a glass-topped coffee table. He always looked elderly and drained when he was working and today was no exception. There were deep circles under his eyes and his raven hair hung across his forehead in gaunt strings. Yurkio was living proof of how malicious his father could be, and in that respect they had something in common.

When she had met him back when he was 18 he had been much different. He had laughed at things and told her jokes. He used to enjoy himself once in awhile. But as the years passed, he moved up the ranks in his father's business until work became an obsession for him. The easy-going and witty Yurkio Oikawa had disappeared into the ever replenishing stacks of papers he had been shackled with. This wasn't a man with any interest left in marriage or her, and she knew it. He was married to his tax returns and sales records, and she would never fit in.

He looked up when he heard her approach, and she greeted him with a curt 'bonjour'. To her credit, she did notice that his eyes lit up briefly when they fell on her, but the spark was gone as soon as it appeared. When she blinked, they were back to dull again. He dipped his head and submerged himself in the papers again.

Without looking up from the page he was on, he spoke, "Care to regale me with the tale about why you skipped school this time?"

"No," She barked testily, surprising even herself with the ice in her tone. She had never, in all her years of living with the Oikawas, spoken to Yurkio like that. But she also found that she didn't particularly care what he would think of her anymore. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, and saying what she truly felt for once was like eating her first potato chip in ten years. It was so deliciously salty on her tongue, and she savored every bite of it, but now that she'd had one, she couldn't possibly deny herself another.

"My, what an unsavory remark," He still hadn't looked up from his work, "Please, elaborate on the occasion of your distress?"

She knew he wasn't really going to listen to her, so she supplied him with something extremely vulgar muttered under her breath in French. With that, she turned to walk out of the living room, but she had hardly taken a step when she heard the rustle of him setting his papers down.

"Come back here," He said it with the utmost courtesy, as if he was making a comment about the weather, but she knew it wasn't a request. It was a command.

She did so, with only a scanty hold on her ignited temper, and he could see it in her melting eyes. She needed something to avail her anger at Hiroaki on, and he insisted on being in the line of fire. It did give her mild satisfaction to know that she had successfully distracted him from his beloved work, but that wasn't enough.

"What the hell was that all about?" He asked quietly.

Apparently he knew more French than she gave him credit for. She had no good explanation, so she said nothing at all.

"You really can be a little brat sometimes can't you? A little French princess who expects people to fall at your feet singing the praises of your beauty, and you still haven't realized that beauty has a price," He continued airily, "But then again, you are only a girl. A girl I will somehow have to turn into a respectful wife. No matter how impossible it may seem."

Either someone had put something in his coffee, or he was just as ready for a showdown as she was. He _never_ said things like that to her, but then again, they were both saying the things they never thought they would. Things they had always wanted to say, but had not for the sake of propriety. And if she had meant every word, perhaps he meant what he had said just as much. Perhaps it could all be attributed to stress, but either way she had been called a child one too many times that day. If it was a battle he wanted, she was more than willing to make it interesting.

"I'm not sure I want to marry you, Yurkio," Her reply was just as calm and disinterested, but it was the equivalent of a reciprocating blow and it was effective.

"Since when do you think it matters what you want?" His eyebrows furrowed together into a scowl, and then she knew what the problem was. Yurkio was just as much of a pawn as she was in his father's game, and he was just as unhappy. It didn't matter what _either_ of them wanted, and he refused to let her remind him. He'd rather keep his denial, but she wouldn't let him throw up the walls now.

"Is that the way you feel then?" She went for a nerve, and words she didn't know she had fell from her lips like acid, "Your father wants you to marry me, and so you will?"

"Well . . . yes," She could tell she'd hit something when his voice took on an unfamiliar choked tone, "You know that, Suko. Honestly, what's come over you?"

"I could ask you the same question," She glared and decided to get to the problem that had been bothering her since she met Hiroaki, "Do you love me?"

"Why does this matter to you all of a sudden?" He hissed, "How is _love_ relevant to marriage? Marriage is a power game that the rich play at."

"Answer my question, Yurkio," To be honest, she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. For both of their sakes. She would not be denied the truth now.

"No," He said at last, "I don't, and I don't see why I should. Love is irrelevant."

There had once been a time when she would've seen no flaws in this logic, but now she wasn't so convinced that love was meaningless. It was just something she'd never experienced, and just because she didn't understand it didn't mean it didn't exist. It could be the only thing worth anything in this world.

"It's that man isn't it?" He said abruptly, raw triumph shimmering in his eyes, "The one from the pet store who saved you. How often have you been seeing him?"

All of a sudden she found herself backtracking. The last thing she wanted was for this to turn into an interrogation, and she definitely didn't want to get Hiroaki involved. As much as she currently hated that man, every bone in her body screamed to defend him.

"Hiroaki doesn't have anything to do with it," She spat his name like it was poison in her mouth, but she couldn't keep the waver of panic out of her voice. He went for the opening in her armor mercilessly.

"Oh, I think he does," Yurkio had the upper hand now, and he knew it, "My father will kill you with his bare hands when he finds out."

Natsuko couldn't believe what she had just heard him say. She knew he was angry, but that was downright malicious. His father wasn't a man to be trifled with. If he ever caught even a whisper about her outings with Hiroaki, he'd break her neck without remorse.

"Why would you tell him?" She whispered fearfully, "We both know he would do it. He's killed for less."

"Because I wont be made a fool of!" Yurkio stood up and shouted so loud she was sure they had the neighbors attention now. In two steps, he had crossed the room and towered over her, "People _expect_ things of me Natsuko! I'm always being scrutinized for mistakes! What will they think of _me_ when they know my wife is fooling around behind my back!"

"So don't marry me!" She snarled with equal venom, "There are plenty of other girls in this world!"

She didn't know where she was finding the strength to keep fighting him, but she did know that she couldn't let him win. Not now. They were both in it too deep.

"My father chose you, and I wont disappoint him. Your pretty enough to satisfy me, and I _thought_ you were more submissive."

"Don't give me that. You know the only reason your father chose me was to have his revenge on my family," She ignored his wrathful look and let the words pour out, "He's nothing more than a criminal and a blackmailer. You shouldn't have to do what he tells you to."

"He's my father god dammit!" Yurkio looked murderous now, "But I suppose you wouldn't know anything of it! _Your_ father sold you to keep his money."

And that broke her.

"How dare you!" She screamed, "How dare you! How dare you!"

Her mind was no longer connected to her body. The animal caged inside her erupted out. She bared her teeth and sprang at him, intent only on causing him pain. She didn't care anymore. Everything hurt too bad to care. And she was still screaming, as if that would make it all go away.

The rest was a blur. She knew she landed two punches, one to his jaw and the other to his chest, and she thought she heard him howling, but she wasn't sure because in the next two seconds something crashed into her that knocked the world off-kilter, and she toppled backwards, smacking her head into a wall.

It took her a few dazed moments for her to realize several important things. The first, and most distressing, was that she couldn't breathe. In her still slightly crooked vision she was able to make out Yurkio, still standing, breathing heavily and staring in horror at a rather large object in his hand, and then her second realization came. The reason she couldn't breathe was because he had hit her with whatever the object was right in the center of her rib cage.

For a few panicked moments no air came and she thought she was going to die, right there on the living room floor. She put her hands to her throat and focused on making her ribs expand. It was excruciating, but the effort yielded oxygen. Something made a nauseating rattling sound in her lungs, but she had air, and that was all that mattered. Yurkio looked absolutely horrified by what he was seeing, and what he'd done.

"My God . . . Suko, I . . . " His voice cracked and the words died on his lips. No apology would be sufficient for his actions.

The unknown object dropped from his hand and slapped to the floor, but he didn't seem to care. He moved toward her with terrified, guilt-stricken eyes, but she held out her hands to keep him away. She'd die before she let him touch her again. He stopped and didn't try to come any closer, even though he was desperate to assess the extent of her injuries. His anger had gone out like a candle in the wind, but hers was still there, simmering in every feeble breath she took.

She had to leave before she did something even more stupid. Shakily, with one hand pressed against the wall for leverage, she got to her feet and started wobbling to the door. He watched her leave in speechless sorrow. He didn't dare to try and stop her now.

She weakly slammed the front door behind her for the second time that day and slouched against the wall, partly because of her boiling anger and partly because she could barely breathe. Gingerly, she pressed her palm against the spot, as if that would numb the pain, and listened to the shallow wheeze of her own breathing. Something wasn't right. She felt like she was breathing through a straw and spots of black were dancing across her eyes. She was going to pass out soon, and she knew that wasn't good.

She had no doubt that his threats against her parents were real, but she was not about to crawl back into that apartment and apologize to a man that had hit her for their sakes. Her parents had never sacrificed anything for her sake as far as she was concerned. That was that, and if she thought more about it, she would only cause herself more pain. Now, there was only the problem of where she went from there.

Instantly she thought of Hiroaki. Would he still want to speak to her after their fight? And even if he did, did she have the courage to face him? The answer was yes. She was a vain and selfish liar, but she wasn't a coward, and she didn't intend to become one. Besides, she had no relatives that she knew of living in Japan, so there was nowhere else to turn. He was her only hope.

The first time they met, when he dropped her off at her apartment, he'd given her his number. He had been worried about her, and he hadn't wanted her to go to home and find nobody home. She'd laughed off his concern as frivolous protectiveness at the time, seeing herself as fully capable of handling herself and the world with one hand tied behind her back. She'd never needed to call him, then or any time since, but she still remembered his number, and she still remembered what he'd said to her.

"_If you reach the top and find yourself all alone, give me a call."_

He knew she was far too prideful call him for help, even if nobody was home and she was bleeding to death on the spotless carpet, so why had he said that? Had he known something else might happen? Surely, he didn't expect this exact scenario, but there was something about the way he said those words made her remember them. Something about his manner suggested that he didn't know why he said it either, but she knew why now. Even then, he knew her more than he was aware.

She would have to call him, and she would have to apologize to him, even if it killed her. There was only one problem. She had his number, imprinted on her memory for reasons that she didn't want to examine too deeply, but she didn't have a phone. She was just beginning to curse her rotten luck, when a ray of unlikely providence struck her.

The door to the apartment next to hers opened Mrs. Inoue appeared in the hallway. Natsuko hadn't exchanged many words with the Inoues since they moved in, but they seemed like nice enough people. If nothing else, they were certainly better than the crotchety old Mr. Matsuda who used to live there. They were a young, newly married couple who lived in relative silence next door to them. The few times they had spoken, both of them had been exceedingly polite and kind to her.

Hitomi Inoue was a pretty woman with long ebony hair that spilled down to the middle of her back. She was about ten years older than Natsuko, and her delicate face and large dark eyes reminded her of a porcelain doll. She was also about six months pregnant with their first child, giving her steps the slightest hint of a waddle these days. That delicate doll's face held a look of concern now. No doubt, her argument with Yurkio had carried through the thin walls.

"Miss?" She gasped upon taking in the appearance of the younger girl sprawled out in the hallway, "I heard shouting. I came to see if you were alright."

Natsuko groaned and licked her dry lips, "You wouldn't happen to have phone I could used to call someone to come get me?"

Hitomi nodded vigorously and disappeared into her apartment to retrieve a phone. She returned with a cellphone and a glass of water. Natsuko excepted both gratefully. Her stomach was turning painfully, but she forced down the water to sooth her parched throat. Her other hand remained pressed firmly against her ribs, and the other woman noticed.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Hitomi asked, "It sounded bad in there."

Natsuko nodded at met her eyes. An unspoken understanding passed between them. They both knew what Yurkio had obviously done, and there was no need to say it out loud. Saying it just made it all the more horrible and all the more real. The pity in Hitomi's eyes was almost unbearable to look at. She turned her head and pretended to be immersed in studying the Chardonnay colored carpet. In times like these she truly missed the taste of red wine.

"I will live," She was a practiced liar, but she couldn't help feeling guilty when she lied to this well-meaning woman, "It'll all be fine once I call H- . . . my brother."

Fingers trembling, she dialed the number written across her mind and brought the receiver to her ear, keenly aware of the fact that Hitomi was still watching her. How could she have this conversation without it sounding suspicious? The static dial tone turned into a buzzing ring. Once. Twice. She bit her lip and glanced nervously at the other woman. Three times. She heard the phone being picked up before the fourth could begin.

"Hello?" The sound of his voice nearly made her lose her nerve.

"Hiroaki," She gasped with relief and fear and frustration.

"Natsuko," She could tell he meant to be cold to her, but he could not mask the concern in his voice, even on the phone, "What's that matter?"

"I . . ." She paused, took a slow, steadying breath, and screwed up her courage, "I think I need help."

"Well why are you calling me?" He snapped, "Don't you have a _fiancé_ to help you?"

"Hiroaki," She repeated his name in a voice of desperate supplication, "Please."

Those were the only words she could think to say, and she threw emotion into each syllable. She refused to beg for his hospitality, but this was coming pretty damned close. It was demeaning, and further pleading was beyond her, so she resigned herself to this final gambit. If he refused her, she would not press him again.

She heard his audible sigh on the other end, "Where are you?"

"In my apartment building," She murmured, toning down her triumph beneath cottony layers of relief and regret.

"Meet me at the doors," He spoke tersely and hung up.

She folded the cellphone closed, and smiled faintly at Hitomi, "He will come for me."


End file.
